Read Evil Deeds (Bob Danforth 1) Online
Authors: Joseph Badal
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers, #Spy Stories & Tales of Intrigue, #Espionage
Bob had enough rank in the CIA to pretty much do whatever he wanted to do without a written directive from a superior, short of ordering wet work. So, demanding a company King Air on a moment’s notice didn’t raise any questions on the part of the Aircraft Control Officer. All the man asked was, “When do you need it and where are you going?”
“Yesterday,” Bob answered. “I need the plane yesterday. I’m flying to Macedonia to join Jack Cole in the talks with the Serbs.”
“Man, it’s a mess over there,” the Aircraft Control Officer said.
More than you know, Bob thought.
After getting off the phone to Langley, Bob returned to his bedroom and hesitated in the doorway. Liz was packing an overnight bag for him, mechanically going through the motions. Bob approached her, gently took her arm, and guided her to the other side of the bed. He made her sit, then cupped her chin and raised her eyes to his.
“You stay strong. I don’t want to be worrying about you while I’m over there.”
Liz cleared her throat. Then she placed her hands on Bob’s chest, pushed him away, and stood. “There’s not a damned thing wrong with me that getting our son back safe and sound won’t cure.” She wagged a finger at him and said, “I’m not that innocent young girl who fell apart in Greece years ago, when that bastard Radko took Michael. If I could get my hands on that sick . . ..”
There was something showing in Liz’s face that told Bob she knew he and the CIA had something to do with Michael’s kidnapping. Her look and the tone in her voice came up short of accusing him of culpability. Nonetheless, Bob felt a rush of icy fear go through him as he thought of what might happen to the rest of his and Liz’s lives if he didn’t bring Michael back.
Liz suddenly, unexpectedly, stepped into Bob’s arms and buried her face in his neck. “You bring our boy home. You hear me, Bob Danforth? You bring our boy home.”
The flight to the U.S. Air Force field constructed outside Kumanovo for the war would take an agonizing seven hours. Despite being exhausted from worry and lack of sleep, Bob felt wired. He knew his and Liz’s future and their mental well-being were tied up in how this mission turned out.
He’d taken a seat in one of two captain’s chairs that bracketed a small round table near the bulkhead. He’d spread out a map of the Serbia/Macedonia border and studied it until his eyes burned. The men who took Michael were going north. He knew that with a certainty that came from years of thinking like the enemies of the United States. He’d participated and planned countless covert operations, and was the best the CIA had.
Bob assumed the kidnappers had stashed a vehicle somewhere near the border. Or a Serb helicopter would pick up the men once they crossed into Serbia. The latter alternative would be the worst. He said a silent prayer the Serbs would try to escape on foot or in a vehicle. A helicopter would be easy to detect. But if they got Michael on board a chopper and managed to take off again, there wasn’t much the Americans would be able to do. An escape on foot or by motor vehicle would slow them down.
“Mr. Danforth,” the co-pilot announced over the plane’s intercom, “I’ve got a call for you.”
Bob grabbed the telephone receiver from its place on the bulkhead. “Danforth,” he said.
“Bob, it’s Jack. I just called the house and Liz told me what you were up to. Are you nuts?”
“Any news?” Bob asked.
“Nothing yet. What do you think you’re going to do?”
“Listen, Jack, let’s not get into a pissing match over my flying over there. You don’t like it, then fire my ass.”
“Okay, okay, calm down,” Jack said. “I’m at the 82nd’s headquarters. I’ll have a car pick you up at the airstrip.”
“Have there been any Serb helicopters in the area of the border?” Bob asked.
“We’ve been watching. Not a one.”
Bob sighed and, in a quiet voice, said, “Thank God.” Then he said, “They’ve got to be going straight north. They wouldn’t risk going in any other direction. They’ve got to get into Serbia as quickly as possible.”
“We’re assuming the same thing. When are you due to land?”
Bob checked his watch. “Three hours.”
The rising sun had brightened the sky above the valley, but the road was in cold shadow. Michael, his hands still bound in front and tethered to one of the Serb soldiers, noticed Sokic’s men’s disdainful looks at the scattering of refugees they were beginning to encounter. Their hatred toward the Kosovars was palpable.
One of the soldiers spat at a dirty, bedraggled man shuffling south, everything he now owned in the world on his back, in his hands. A couple of the others slung curses at the frightened people they passed, taunting them. The leader of the Serb unit told his men to shut up.
Michael looked at the refugees’ expressions and saw the same fear and despair he’d seen thousands of times in the past few weeks. Their faces were open books, which Michael had learned to read. They’d lost everything and knew they had no reason to believe they would ever return to their homes. He wondered if they could see the same look on his face.
Michael had a sudden sinking feeling. He told himself he could never lose hope. His worst enemy was hopelessness. Never give up. But he knew the Serbs would commandeer the first vehicle they came across, and then his situation would turn from dire to hopeless. As long as they were on foot, they couldn’t put much distance between themselves and the Macedonian border. But with a car or truck, even a horsedrawn wagon . . .. And once they moved into a Serb village or town, U.S. planes would be unable to spot them – if there were planes out looking for him in the first place.
“82nd Air—”
“This is NIMA calling for Jack Cole.”
“Hold on.”
Jack had been pacing the command center like a caged animal. He rushed to the speakerphone. “This is Jack Cole.”
“Matthews at NIMA. I think we got something. One of our satellites crosses over the area where the Jeep is located every twenty-two minutes. We zeroed in on the coordinates of that spot and checked every satellite pass from 1918 hours on. Absolutely nothing occurred until 0512 hours, your time. We saw the heat signatures of six people around one vehicle. At 0534 hours, the men are gone and the Jeep is lying in the ravine fifty yards away.”
“How about the people?” Jack blurted. “Could you pick up their signatures moving away from the site?”
“Not on the same satellite pass. And, for whatever reason, we didn’t detect them during the 0556 overflight. But at 0618, six separate heat signatures were picked up in the hills a couple miles north of the abandoned Jeep.”
“Could be any group of people,” Jack said, playing devil’s advocate, although his instincts told him they’d located Michael and his captors.
“Yeah, maybe. But we’ll have sunlight on the 0640 SAR pass. I may be able to tell you a whole lot more in . . . six and-a-half minutes.”
“Okay, we’ll continue keeping this line open until then. I’ll see if I can hold my breath that long. And, Matthews, good work.”
Matthews said, “I’ll come back on the line the minute I have the next imagery.”
Jack crisscrossed the room. He stopped suddenly after three circuits, spun around, and faced Colonel Sweeney. “Colonel,” he said, “is there something we could be doing right now in anticipation of Matthews telling us they just took a picture of five Serb soldiers and one U.S. Army Captain. If they’re still on foot, they can’t be too far north of here.” Jack smiled at Sweeney and said, “You wouldn’t happen to have a helicopter that could check out the general area?”
Sweeney smiled back. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, walking over to a second telephone where he dialed four numbers. “Jim, Dennis Sweeney here. No, nothing for sure. Listen, get Dombrowsky on the radio and tell him to get his two birds in the air. Tell him he’s probably too far north.”
Jack grinned at Sweeney and thought, thank God for military men with a balls-to-the-wall attitude.
“No, I don’t know exactly where,” Sweeney continued. “Just tell Jess to follow the main road south. Hopefully, I‘ll have more information in a few minutes.”
Sweeney hung up and joined Jack in striding back and forth across the room.
Jack jumped at the sudden sound of Matthews’ voice bursting like an explosion over the speakerphone. “You there, Mr. Cole?”
With Sweeney following him, he rushed over to the phone. “I’m here. Go ahead.”
“We got six men taking a Sunday stroll up the middle of the main north-south road. One of the men is obviously tied up. Without a car, and considering the time sequence, I’d say it’s your man.”
“What’re the coordinates?” Jack shouted.
“Check your fax machine. Our Photographic Intelligence Section sent you the last photographs. The coordinates are printed on the bottom of the pictures.”
“Thanks, Matthews, I owe you one.”
“Just let us know if you find our boy.”
“You can count on it.”
Bob’s legs ached. He stood and tried to stretch them while walking back and forth in the airplane’s cabin but the clearance was too low and bending over while he walked only made his back ache. He returned to his seat and collapsed into it. Less than an hour, he thought as he looked at his wristwatch.